I would wait a thousand years to be with you…
I would endure a thousand executions for you…
I would persevere through millennia of persecution for you…
I would remain honest and true to you, withholding myself through one hundred marriages, for you, alone…
For me, there is no life without you…
O’ Fate, how I await her sweetest embracing—the embrasure of her bosom…
The fleeting moment, a quagmire of stillness—of quietus: lonely and uncertain, sorrowful and deafening; the desperation of wanton longing—of love once lost, and the opportunity for the wanting romance never had…of her gaze, and of her peering, as though, aloft, searching mine very essence in soul…
How, I pray, that death overtake me, if I am doomed to perdition—but doomed to live without her…for life is without reason., but without purpose, if not for her gaze, and her touch; if not for her caressing, and her boundless beauty, bountiful and limitless; nevertheless, her horizonless brilliance, shining ever brighter than a thousand suns, and her eyes, mesmerising and trancing; her very being—her core foundation, unshaken, unbreakable, how endearingly transcendental…
The Life Without You,
How barren, how dreary…the echoing emptiness! The pained remembrance! How desolate, the world without you, for you tread greater than the oceans abounding, roaring with fury and vengeance! The despairing sentiment, how silent, how deeply adrift the eventide of darkness, this place without you… Without your laughter, without your presence, my heart falters and fails, succumbed to defeat, lest you remain, ceaseless and present…
Orations joyless, without hymns, strange songs are sung, and the likes of me, undone…
For one cannot reconcile the Life Without You. I remiss, there is no place untoward the likeness of brokenness… There is no amount of time I would not wait for you—even the remotest sight of you, the faintest glimpse, the slightest scent of your soul’s fragrance…
There is no distance I would not travel to reach you, and there is no mountain I would not climb to be within reach of you…
The most minuet semblance of you: of but one moment with you, is enough to satisfy the heartache I have for you—to be within your presence for but one second, is enough to satiate my deepest desires, from the darkest chasms of my soul’s malcontent…one day with you, is as a thousand winter-moons in heaven, and, although forgone this conclusion, understood always as inevitable, to be graced with your touch, for the briefest moment, would be worth suffering hellfire, forevermore, with the remembrance and knowing of the time spent with you…
It would be better to know you for only a splinter of time, and die with the memory of those moments with you, than to live a life without you; it is better to have known you and died with that afterthought, than to have lived and never known you., or for having existed, in perfect peace and endlessness, so I could in the very least have had the chance to romanticise you—to immortalise and enshrine you, into the deepest reaches of the mind, and the farthest breaches of the heart, supinely without the memory—the knowing or actuality of you—the everlasting, the ever-more resolute, resonant and sublime, with deepest profundity, how absolute…
To Dance amongst the highest stars, ruinous and flickering darkly—the nethermost precipice, where trees bow in reverence to you, the utmost abstraction, the absolute: beyond the cloud nebulae’s, beyond the rapture of space, and the embrasure of the heavenly place, one greater, where only you reside: that sacred place called Cloud Nine.
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